


just a pretty face

by lipsstainedbloodred



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Humiliation kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, safe wording
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: In which Aziraphale takes play just a bit too far.





	just a pretty face

**Author's Note:**

> “And words, little words, words too small for any hope or promise, not really soothing, but soothing nonetheless.” - Richard Siken, “The Torn-Up Road”

“You’re such a tempting treat, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “Vile, temptatious beast spread out across my bed sheets.” He pulls his bottom lip between his lips. His words are filthy, but his eyes are kind. “What ever shall I do with you?” 

Crowley is spread out beneath him, naked as the say of their creation, looking up at Aziraphale with a soft curl of the lips. He spreads his legs wider for Aziraphale to settle, fully clothed, between them. This is how it goes, sometimes, between them. Aziraphale will talk, and Crowley will listen. Aziraphale will say nasty, humiliating things and Crowley will get off on them. Aziraphale will wrap him up in his arms after, hold Crowley and whisper sweet things into his ear until he falls asleep. It is a fine, delicate line that they dance between too much and not nearly enough. 

Aziraphale bends down to kiss him, running soft pudgy hands over his stomach and rib cage, pausing to tickle just a little, making Crowley fidget. Crowley strains against him. He can’t be still like this, he’s never been one to show that kind of restraint, but Aziraphale holds him down nicely.

Hands at his hip bones, pressing into the sharp jut of bone and then pressing harder until Crowley gasps against Aziraphale’s mouth. Feels the angel’s lips pull into a smile against him. 

“I could have you like this forever,” Aziraphale presses their cheeks together, “Soft and sweet up against me, begging for things I shouldn’t allow you to have because you haven’t earned them.”

Crowley moans and grasps at Aziraphale’s jacket, hands balled up in the tweed. 

Aziraphale gently untangles his fingers and presses Crowley’s wrists to the cool pillows below in silent demand. 

Crowley whines. Aziraphale nips at his bottom lip and then kisses his cheekbone. Crowley stays, digging his fingers into the bedding.

“Wicked thing,” Aziraphale’s hands drift down to Crowley’s thighs, running along the soft skin there until Crowley jerks against him. He pinches the skin meanly, but he laughs, “Wicked, wanton creature.”

Crowley licks his lips and tilts his head up in silent askance to be kissed again.

Aziraphale ignores him. “Pretty thing you are,” He whispers, trailing kisses across the demon’s chest instead, pausing to scrape his teeth over a sensitive nipps, “though that’s all you are, really, isn’t it? Just a pretty face.”

Crowley squirms, somewhere between positively aroused and uncomfortable. This isn’t part of the script. This is...new.

“Not much going on up there, is there?” Aziraphale continues, reaching up to twirl dark red hair between his fingers, tugging just a little. “Must be an easy life, walking around with not much to think about. Vapid, vain thing that you are.”

Crowley frowns. “Aziraphale-”

“Hush now,” Aziraphale presses a cool kiss to his collar bone, “No need for thinking, not that you ever do; all you need to do is lie there for me and be good. You can do that, can’t you?”

Crowley squirms more. He- he doesn’t like this. This isn’t right, like their normal play. Crowley’s stomach ties itself into a knot. “Aziraphale, I-”

“Silly, vacant boy,” Aziraphale presses on, hands smoothing down Crowley’s side, dancing at his waist, his skinny hips, “just something lovely for me to show off. A doll to have with me. Dull, beautiful demon.” He bites down on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Ngh,” Crowley grunts, screwing his eyes shut.

Crowley isn’t stupid, isn’t dull, isn’t vapid. All this talk that normally sparks fire through him is turning him to mud. He kind of wants to cry, reach out and have Aziraphale hold him. He keeps his eyes closed.

“Precious,” Aziraphale mumbles into his skin, unaware, “Not a thought in your head, but-”

Something inside Crowley breaks. “Eden,” He gasps, “Eden, Aziraphale, Eden, I can’t-”

Aziraphale draws back with a matching gasp. Crowley feels the absence of him like a gunshot. It tears through him. “Oh dear, my love, I’m so-” His hands fluttering about Crowley like he wants to soothe but isn’t sure where he can touch.

“Just-” Crowley squirms out from under him, wraps his arms around his naked torso, “Stop, just stop talking for a bit.”

Aziraphale does. Crowley feels him move across the bed to sit beside him. He can feel the guilt rolling off of Aziraphale in waves and it does nothing to ease the knot in his stomach. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“I’m not stupid,” Crowley says, still with his back to Aziraphale.

“Oh darling,” Aziraphale sounds ragged with upset, “no of course not. It was just in play. I thought-”

“It didn’t feel like play.” Crowley rolls over and looks at Aziraphale. The angel’s eyebrows are drawn together, his face a mask of concern. His hands keep fidgeting like he wants to reach out and touch Crowley but doesn’t know if his touch would be welcome. “I didn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry my dear,” Aziraphale says, “I should have asked you first.”

Crowley nods. He slowly untangles himself from his own arms.

“Can I do anything for you?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley thinks about it. “Lay down.” Aziraphale lays himself down, still fully clothed except for his dress shoes. Crowley drapes himself over him, still naked, his head on Aziraphale’s chest, leg tossed over the angel’s hip. “You can hold me.” He adds, when Aziraphale makes no move to do so.

Aziraphale exhales and relieved breath and settles one hand on Crowley’s back, the other pushing up into his hair. “Okay?” He asks.

Crowley grunts and presses in closer. “Yes.” He hisses. The cramping knot in his stomach finally loosening. “You can talk to me.” He nudges Aziraphale with his knee. 

“Clever boy,” Aziraphale mumbles, “Oh I do love you, Crowley, you know that don’t you? I would defy Heaven and Hell for you. I would stand between you and an entire army. I would start and stop entire apocalypses. Run away with you to the stars. Raze the world to the ground if you asked it of me.”

“Love you, angel.” Crowley feels Aziraphale’s lips in his hair.

“As I love you,” Aziraphale says, running his fingers over Crowley’s spine, “Oh my dear, I am so dreadfully sorry.”

“Enough.” Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s neck, “Just...don’t do it again.”

“Of course not, of course not.” Aziraphale tilts Crowley’s head up enough to kiss him. And again. And again. Aziraphale’s fingers at his jaw, along his back. Again, until Crowley’s mouth is sore and pleasantly full. “I love you.” Aziraphale whispers. And again, and again, and again. Until Crowley falls asleep against him, pliant and safe.


End file.
